


Divine Intervention

by Oliver__Niko



Series: SorMik Week 2019 [2]
Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Mikleo, Angels, Angst, Fallen Angels, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, M/M, Sormik Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 12:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20153284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: Angels are tools. Forbidden to commit humanity's sin, they must be as pure as the hearts they possess. Mikleo is an angel who fights against the chains which restrain him.He is sent down to Earth as punishment. There, he meets a man who takes him home to care for him. A man who Mikleo falls in love with in the blink of an eye.And as an angel who must already atone for his sins, he will gladly accept another, and he will tear everything apart if it allows him to stray down this forbidden path.





	1. Fallen from Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to day 2's fic! This is for the prompt Marigold (jealousy and despair) and is inspired by the Vocaloid song, 'Alluring Secret: Black Vow'. I thought of this concept years ago and finally decided to use it this week!
> 
> As you can see, it's a two part fic, with the second up tomorrow. I hope you enjoy!

He pleads with them. All shreds of pride are cast aside as he begs to stay, for them to not throw him away for that single sin.

The lacerations across his back burn like the flames of Hell. His body trembles, coated in sweat, inflamed from justified punishment.

Part of him wonders if Hell truly would be better than this.

_"I wasn't thinking, so please―please don't send me away!"_

He is not truly sure why he begs. He assumes that it is the nature driven into him against his consent. That his only reason to live is for the sake of others, his pure, celestial heart used as a tool; to believe that it is a sin to have his own will and emotions.

Deep down, he knows that this is why he feels guilt. He _knows _that his so-called sins are not deserving of treatment of thisextent.

And yet he pleads, because that is all his controlled mind instructs him to do in this moment.

He pleads until his throat is hoarse, until the words he spills are no longer coherent to him. And none of it helps him in the slightest.

He loses track of the days where he is isolated, kept away from everyone else as they decide his fate. This confinement, intended to break him and to further his obedience, steadily builds resentment and resistance.

Questioning why they must be so cruel, why order and reason must be placed as a priority above all else, he begins to realise that life does not have to be this way.

His mind is clouded, confused and uncertain of everything as it begins to attempt to break itself free from its chains.

Freedom is slowly yet surely in his grasp.

And so when those who control their puppet's strings decide on their punishment at last, to send their tool down to Earth in order for it to obey through the trauma of witnessing man's sin and undying cruelty, the remaining fragments of his heart are glad.

Send him away. Let him repent.

Allow him to throw away God's restraints as he welcomes the flaws of the human race.

  


* * *

Groaning, the figure attempts to push himself up off the ground. His entire body is enveloped in a dreadful ache. His arms shake from his body weight. On his knees, he attempts to catch his breath, gathering thoughts in his mind and attempting to take himself through everything that has happened.

For his sins, this is the way that they have chosen to punish him. To live life temporarily on Earth. To a human, this may seem puzzling to be a punishment; what is so harsh about being sent here?

The answer lies in how the world is far too malevolent for a pure being to live there. It can have devastating consequences. _They, _of course, are fully aware of this. That is exactly why he is standing here right now. They want him to learn the error of his ways through learning that Heaven is truly the only place he is welcome.

Either that, or he will die trying. He guesses that anyone who cannot survive the harshness of Earth during their punishment holds no value to return.

He does not want to return. Or at least, he believes as such. Violet eyes take in the forestry surrounding him as he attempts to steady himself on his legs. They have given him an opportunity without even realising. An opportunity to return to the life he once had, even if he does not remember it, and to learn more about the humans he admires.

The creature who is allowed to sin, because such a thing is natural in everyone’s hearts, even if his masters believe otherwise with those they rule over.

Pain flares through his leg as he steps forward. Immediately, he stumbles against a tree nearby. Its bark feels far rougher than anything in Heaven. His head lowers as he attempts to catch his breath. When his eyes open, they find that dying feathers are laid by his feet.

Not a good sign. Although he imagines that some may simply be loose from how part of his torture had been to have them ripped straight from their nerve endings.

He can still hear his own screams echo in his ears.

Shivering, he forces himself to continue walking. He isn’t sure where exactly. This may be a better fit for him than remaining locked in chains, although he cannot deny how lost he is.

There is no place to call home on Earth. There are no souls he can call his friend, not a single person he can trust. Although is that no different than his life in Heaven?

Despite how he is uncertain on what will be on the end of the road for him, he keeps himself pushing forward, panted breaths escaping through his mouth. Even this seems to be more alive now. In Heaven, perhaps because of how so many angels have their consciences sealed, every sensation is muted. Pain is usually included. It may be that he is able to think for himself a little more again because of how they nullified this control, enough so that they could cause him agony.

He must have not fallen far from civilisation. Already, he is emerging from the trees. He blinks as sunlight blinds him, holding a hand over his eyes. As they adjust, they take in the sight of what’s around him.

It is … wonderful. Lively, full of life and people, going about their everyday lives. The forestry has lead him to a park right by the city streets. Couples walk hand-in-hand, dogs wag their tails as they find a new friend, a father runs after his children as the mother smiles in the background.

Life. Something which he has not seen through his own eyes for a very long time.

His throbbing legs bring him forward. He is enchanted by all that is around him. Weak and lost, so he may be, he could still never not be fascinated by how humans lead their lives.

There are curious murmurs and puzzled expressions. Is it the wings? The bruises and cuts visible even when he wears clothing which covers the majority of his body? Either way, they stare. Although he takes little notice and keeps on walking. He assumes that allowing others to see him is part of his punishment. Perhaps those above expect him to be harmed by being visible.

He can definitely feel what they mean by malevolent humanity. His chest is tightening, an invisible fog choking him, although he cannot say that this is enough to make him wish he wasn’t here. Although the more he walks, the more he stumbles.

No one stops to help. He cannot blame them; he imagines that all this unsteady walking and the wings from his back are convincing people he is intoxicated. He manages to bring his aching body to a side-walk near the park. Less people are here, although he hears laughter from a group of men across the road.

“Where are ya going? Some kind of costume party?”

Aside from this shout, the men don’t bother with him any further. Eventually, he cannot keep himself standing. He allows himself to fall at the entrance of an alleyway.

Slumped against the wall, he breathes heavily, his hand feeling at his back. Dampness follows; blood has seeped though his tunic. He imagines that the wounds on his body have not quite had chance to heal, his fall down to Earth managing to reopen them.

His eyes close, head leaning back against the wall. Finally returning to the world he belongs to might be a blessing to him. Yet he is still so lost, so unsure on where to go from here, that the true realisation of what has happened finally buries itself inside him.

Once again, he is alone, and he is unsure if survival is obtainable here if you are as such.

His eyes open when he hears footsteps. He turns his head to the side, glancing up at a figure standing at the beginning of the alleyway. It is difficult to make out any clearness in the silhouette; the light behind them casts a shadow over them.

No, not them. Him. A male voice speaks, one which sounds concerned.

“Whoa, are you all right?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. He realises how long it has been since he was asked this question.

“What’s happened?” the man persists. He even slides down in front of the angel. Through a clouded vision, the latter can see green eyes belonging to a handsome face. This face turns towards the wings. “Wait …”

“I’m fine,” says the angel. His voice is weak, breathless, the first words spoken in days.

“I wouldn’t say you are,” says the man. His focus is brought back to the fact that the angel is injured, as though this is a far bigger concern to him than coming across a supernatural creature. “You’re bleeding, and there’s cuts and bruises everywhere … What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” Rehearsed words. Never can he express emotion. Never can he show any sign of personality, of his own mind and will, of a heart which yearns for more than its chains.

So why are there tears running down his face? Why is he so distraught, yet also so joyful to finally be speaking to a human, something he has wanted to do for a time he cannot tell?

He recoils as the man reaches for him. Terrified that his touch would mean more pain. Only this hand is brought back immediately upon Mikleo’s reaction.

“Hey, hey,” says the man gently. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’m uh, I’m Sorey. Can you tell me your name?”

“My name?” the angel repeats. Confused.

“Do you have one?”

“I don’t … I don’t know.”

Does he? He must have done, long ago. After all, he had once been human, and all human children are given names. He simply lost that identity when he became an angel. The name was stripped from him, as was anything else he could call his own. He has not been referred to by anything but a number for years upon years.

However … he can still hear her voice, sometimes. That which belongs to his mother. A gentle, soothing voice, which eased him to sleep and laughed the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

She said his name many times. If he concentrates, he realises that he has heard this very word be uttered to him in his dreams and nightmares alike.

“Wait,” he says. “Mikleo. It’s Mikleo.”

“Mikleo,” says Sorey, as though testing the sound of it on his tongue. He appears to contemplate his options for a moment. “Would you like to come home with me, so I can patch you up? You don’t have to explain what’s happened, I promise. I just want you to be safe.”

Safe. Is that something he, an angel, deserves? Is that not the very reason why he has been sent here? He has to obey. Accept punishment. He cannot fulfil desires for safety … He cannot let himself find security.

No. That is what the sealed mind, the one he is trying to break free, tells him. This is not reality.

“But why?” asks Mikleo, still uncertain. “_How_, even? How aren’t you … shocked? Or think I’m just wearing a costume, like everyone else does?”

“Oh, I’m shocked as Hell,” says Sorey, letting out a laugh. “To be honest, I almost fainted. But hey, I’ve always believed in the supernatural. And I guess that the good guy in me is too strong to focus on that rather than the fact that you’re clearly injured.”

Mikleo flinches as Sorey edges closer. Although this time, he allows himself to remain still. He watches as Sorey unzips his hooded jacket. His eyes find Mikleo’s, asking for consent to edge closer, before he is wrapping the jacket around Mikleo. Over the wings to hide them, shielding away the cuts and bruises on his arms.

Sorey smiles. It causes something to stir in Mikleo’s chest. “There. Can you come home with me, now?”

His hand reaching over to grasp at the jacket, Mikleo nods numbly. He doubts there are other options for him. It is either accept this help or wander around aimlessly. And with how inviting that smile is, with how caring Sorey seems to be, Mikleo knows he would rather choose the former.

“Thank God …” The irony, when God is the one who caused this. “Come on, it’s not that far from here. I was just heading out to the store.”

Sorey’s arm wraps itself around Mikleo’s shoulders. The latter brings himself up onto his legs, knowing it’d be impossible to do so without the help of another. His body is limp against Sorey’s. He knows that steps are futile, already panting by the time they are out in the street.

“Here,” says Sorey, settling Mikleo against the wall before crouching down. “Get on my back.”

Mikleo has little will to try to object. He practically falls against Sorey, although the latter is prepared; he catches Mikleo securely, positioning him properly before bringing himself up off the ground.

He can vaguely tell that Sorey questions if he is comfortable. His head nods weakly. It rests into Sorey’s shoulder, eyes closing.

His body once again takes him into unconsciousness as the ground beneath him sways.  
  
  


* * *

That day, when they first began to punish him, Mikleo realised that he had been naive on what true agony is like.

Inflicted physical torture alone cannot do much. After all, should you implement this on an angel with no conscience at all, though they may feel it, they will not truly comprehend what it means. They will accept it.

It only works on someone who is beginning to take back their own will. Someone such as Mikleo. Because then, you will know the extent of the pain they will unleash on you. They can use that to their advantage. Proving that they are above you, they can force your mind to make the connection; that disobeying results in pain. They will use the last submissiveness that remains in order to manipulate you into believing that you deserve their punishment.

They told him this many times. The memories flash in Mikleo’s slumber, as broken and fragmented as shards of glass, yet with enough senses to put together the pieces of what is happening.

Screams. So many of his own screams, heard enough times for them to almost not seem real anymore. Other sounds which destroy his ears. The clanking of the chains binding his wrists, the impact of the whip against his back as it strikes it time and time again.

The smell of his blood, his sweat. The darkness beneath the blindfold trapping him permanently in darkness. And of course, the fiery assaults, too large of a list for Mikleo to see one by one in this nightmare.

Somehow, it is their words which torment him above all else. Telling him is a shell, that his only purpose is to serve them, for angels are humanity’s servant, and no servant deserves their own sense of self. The blindfold which is removed long enough for him to watch his books be torn to shreds.

There is no use for them, because likes and dislikes are part of your personality, and a personality means you have a sense of self.

In his sleep, Mikleo attempts to shout out, pleading to whoever might be listening to take him out of here. Enough. Enough.

_Everything_ is enough. He just wants to know what it means to be happy.

Slowly, he is given escape, as a distant voice becomes clearer and light breaks through the overwhelming darkness.

He sits bolt upright with a sharp inhale. His arms are held over his chest, panted breaths escaping him. His body flinches when he sees something move. Yet it is only the man who brought him here. Sorey, he reminds himself.

“It’s all right,” says Sorey, crouching down in front of Mikleo. “It’s only me.”

The words allow Mikleo to bring himself to the present. He glances around himself. He is currently in a room he imagines that humans call a _home. _A television against the wall, bookshelves nearby to it. Mikleo himself is on a sofa, covered in sapphire blankets.

He notices the feel of his skin from the arms which still hug himself. He glances down, seeing that his torso is bare, bandages wrapped around all deeper wounds. The shallow cuts have been cleaned as well.

Noticing this, Sorey says, “Sorry that I couldn’t ask if undressing you was okay. You were just bleeding a lot—I was scared about leaving it.”

Mikleo remains silent. A hand runs over his back, feeling the bandages which have been plastered over it. Even the base of his wings have been secured as well; Mikleo imagines all the torture with his feathers caused some damage there as well.

His hand holds against his head. The hair is soft and dry, no longer matted by any blood.

“Is that colour natural?” asks Sorey, seeming to want to try and encourage light conversation. “I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me, what with you being an angel and all. Pure hair for a pure being and all that.”

Mikleo nods slowly. His eyes shift around the room again, taking in every square inch. He cannot remember the last time he has been in a place that one can call home.

Eventually, his eyes return to Sorey, who is watching him. Though Sorey is smiling reassuringly, there is clear concern etched on his face. He likely has a million questions.

Mikleo currently has only one; what is this strange emotion he has each time he looks into those eyes?

“I know I said that you don’t have to tell me anything, which is still true,” says Sorey. “But … But I really do want to know what happened. I want to help.”

Slowly, Mikleo’s head shakes. He speaks his first words since his awakening. “You can’t.”

“Why not? Who did this?”

Mikleo’s eyes avert upwards. Sorey follows this gaze. Piercing through the ceiling above their heads, reaching the clouds, the sky, far beyond into the Heavens.

“Not them? Angels, like you?”

Diverted eyes, Mikleo tightening his grip on the blanket beneath him. Enough of a reaction for Sorey to receive an answer.

“But … But why?” Sorey questions. “Aren’t they meant to be good? Why would they do this to someone? Another angel, no less?”

“Order and reason,” Mikleo murmurs.

“Order and … reason?”

“We’re a tool to be used. Moulded into what they want, what they desire. No matter what that may be.”

“But … But …”

Sorey stares, his mouth hanging open, an expression of distress. To know that a tale he has always been told, of those beautiful beings with their wings of pure white, has never been filled with as much purity as one would expect.

“Everything has to be perfect,” says Mikleo. His voice is monotone, quiet. Almost robotic. “We work for the system of good and evil. We’re forbidden from sin, despite how we too were once human.”

“And you committed that? A sin?”

“I tried to seek love, my own sense of person. I was lonely. Empty. And to fulfil one’s desires is a sin in itself. We’re not permitted to be anyone but what they need us to be.”

“They did all this because you … wanted to be something more than a tool?” asks Sorey, eyes wide with horror. Mikleo nods his head slowly.

“To force me back into obedience. And they sent me here as the final part of my punishment.”

“Why would sending you to Earth be part of your punishment?”

“We’re not supposed to be here,” says Mikleo. “The sins of your kind can kill us. We drown in that malevolence. I imagine to send me here means that I am either to die, or to be so driven to the edge that I will no longer go against anything they say.”

“You … Surely you can’t go back there?” asks Sorey. Mikleo can hear the desperation in his voice.

“I don’t want to. I wanted to be sent here. I want to be around those who are allowed to commit sins.”

“It’s just dangerous for you,” Sorey finishes for him. Mikleo nods.

“I don’t … I don’t want to give in,” says Mikleo. “I don’t want to be their tool. They can let me repent all they like; I’ll still find a way to go against them.”

He at last receives one of those smiles for saying this.

“And I think that’s strong of you,” says Sorey. Mikleo’s heart swells, and he looks away from Sorey, down at his hands.

“I should get out of here regardless. I don’t know what might happen to you if you help me.”

Even as he speaks, Mikleo has began to move; he attempts to pull back the blankets, trying to swing his legs over the side of the sofa to place his feet on the floor. His attempts are in vain. He winces immediately, a slight whimper escaping his lips, and his upper arms are immediately taken in Sorey’s hold.

“You can’t go back out there like this,” says Sorey. “Stay here. I doubt they’d hurt a human, right? Not for helping you?”

Mikleo’s tongue runs over his lips. The honest answer would be that he would not actually doubt such a thing. However, if the two have been together this long already with no consequence, then Mikleo imagines that a little longer would be safe.

They must be watching him right in this moment. Perhaps there is something stopping them from interfering.

What else could they do? After all the cards they have dealt so far? How much more can they hurt him?

“Hey.” He hears the voice breaking through the returning darkness, eyes becoming clearer as hands cup his cheeks. His face is lifted, and he finds Sorey’s. Gentle. Warm. It expresses a care that Mikleo has not received since he was alive. “I’m here. It’s all right. You’re going to be okay.”

He cannot will himself to shake his head. He leans it against Sorey’s hand instead, eyes closing. They remain still. A thumb trails across his face, stopping short of his lips.

His eyes open. A wretched angel who realises, as he stares at that smile, he has fallen in love. If he is able to understand what this means, at least.

“I’ll get you some water,” says Sorey, Mikleo feeling lost once that hold leaves him. “Uh, _can _you drink? I just thought it’d be good for you after … everything.”

Mikleo nods slowly. The hand which lingers on Mikleo’s shoulder before the man walks away leaves a warmth which envelopes the entirety of him.

He has been sent here to be held accountable for sin. Loving this man will only be another.

  


* * *

A few days pass by quite similarly to one another.

Mikleo continues to rest in order to recover from the ordeals of his punishment. He drifts in and out of sleep, which is usually broken up by the horrors he faces within his slumber. Sorey continues to care for him. Slowly, Mikleo feels a little alive. He imagines it’s the fiery love threatening to ignite inside him.

Love is yet another emotion he cannot possess. Though not a sin in itself—so long as you love who you are supposed to, that is—the selfishness and personal desires it causes are. Especially for an angel. To love means you are selfish. Selfishness is not permitted.

You have to be selfless in order for them to control you how they wish.

Perhaps that is why they are not coming to Earth to stop this bond. If Mikleo commits this one last sin, it might justify them ruining him further. He knows that even after all they have done already, there is the chance of it escalating.

They would take that in a heartbeat. Using an angel as an outlet for stress is not exactly uncommon.

Even so, Mikleo is barely able to bring himself to think about this. He is being consumed by emotions he has been deprived of. Seal them away, and they will only return with more intensity. Restrict, and you will only crave that which has been classed as forbidden.

Mikleo rests back on the sofa, listening to the book Sorey reads to him. He has mentioned he adores books. Without the strength to read himself, Sorey has began to read to him in order to help him relax.

Every word has meaning. Mikleo wishes he could listen to this forever.

“I think you should probably get back to sleep, now,” says Sorey, who is currently sat on the arm of the sofa. He glances down as Mikleo’s hand takes the bottom of his shirt.

“Stay,” he says simply. Sorey smiles, lowering himself down so he is back in his spot of crouching by the sofa.

“Of course,” says Sorey, brushing Mikleo’s hair from his face in order to coax him into relaxation. Mikleo’s eyes flutter shut, although slumber does not take him yet. He has to remain awake to appreciate this.

He imagines Sorey leaning down to kiss him. He knows that it is an act of love given by many humans. And having been without it for so long, his heart bursts with the longing for it to be given, for these gentle hands to touch him, for him to finally be granted what is forbidden.

How disgusting he must be.

  


* * *

Several days later, Mikleo is able to finally move around Sorey’s home.

It suits him. A small, yet lovely home, books seeming to be everywhere. There are signs that Sorey is not the only one who lives here. Mikleo wonders where this other person might be, although for now, he enjoys having Sorey’s company to himself. It is allowing him to feel far more alive than he has ever done so before.

One of the first things he does is shower. It helps to ground him. He can close his eyes under that pouring water, imagining it to be a forest’s rain as he is surrounded by nature. He hopes that one day, he is granted the chance to be there for real. As long as they don’t force his return, perhaps he can ask Sorey if they can visit it.

How long he will be able to remain here for is uncertain. He has to make the most of every single moment.

The inflictions on his body are still harsh and painful. Once Mikleo returns from his shower, this injuries revealed on the arms revealed by one of Sorey’s T-shirts, Sorey gives him a sad smile.

“Come here, I’ll put the bandages back on for you,” says Sorey. “Mind taking your shirt off again? And how are your legs?”

“They’re not as bad,” says Mikleo, settling down on the sofa. “I’d heal them if they didn’t seal my healing powers.”

“I imagine that was so you couldn’t heal anything they did to you, huh?” asks Sorey quietly, receiving a nod. “It’s horrifying. Absolutely horrifying …”

His hands are as gentle as always as he begins to cover Mikleo’s injuries once again. As he works, he says to himself, “She’s coming home soon … Maybe I should find a way to get these wings concealed.”

“We could always secure them down,” Mikleo suggests, unsure if it’s all right for him to ask who ‘she’ is.

“That wouldn’t hurt you?”

“A little, maybe. But only from stretching the wings. The feathers are too soft to hurt the injuries on my back.”

“All right, then,” says Sorey. Mikleo can hear his smile. “See, as much as _I’m _utterly fascinated by this wings of yours, I don’t know if others would accept it quite as easily. So I was thinking it’d probably be best to hide them. Then we can get you outside, too! As long as you can handle it out there.”

Mikleo straightens up over this suggestion. “I’ve love that,” he says softly.

Once he has finished bandaging up Mikleo’s injuries, Sorey proceeds with his plan of tying down the wings. It is a rather fiddly procedure. The wings, though light, are rather large. Sorey has to wrap them around Mikleo’s torso, both grateful for their flexibility, and attempt to secure them down with more of the bandages wrapped around Mikleo’s waist.

Twice, the wings escape from Sorey’s hold, who lets out a groan each time. Eventually, however, the wings are finally pressed down.

“Whoa,” says Sorey, staring at how flat they are. “It’s so cool that they can actually get compressed this well. I suppose they really must be weightless, huh? Anyway, you should get the shirt back on, see if it shows.”

Mikleo nods. He picks up the T-shirt, pulling it on over his torso. He pats it down, twisting his body around to try and peek at himself. It’s a strange experience to not see his wings at all. If he brings his attention away to how they feel being pinned down this way, he can almost forget he is an angel.

What a sweet relief that would be.

“There we go, I can’t see them at all!” says Sorey, leaning back with a grin. “Probably helps that my shirt is baggy on you. You _are _pretty small, I suppose …”

Humming, Mikleo fiddles with the bottom of the shirt with his fingers. He has read before how this act of wearing another person’s clothing can be romantic. It can provide a sense of comfort, almost as though this person is constantly embracing you, the warmth of their clothes almost similar to how it must be to be in their arms.

Mikleo is uncertain, but this feeling in his stomach may have risen because of this. He can vaguely smell Sorey’s scent. It is a comfort, yet also torments him all at once, knowing that this is the closest he will have to feeling Sorey.

“Oh, that must be her,” says Sorey when there is the sound of the front door opening. “I told her to message me when she left the station so I could help her with her luggage … Back in a minute, Mikleo!”

Mikleo nods, a little curious on what is happening as Sorey rushes out of the room, over to the hallway. There is the sound of greeting, a little laughter, before Sorey is returning.

Behind Sorey is a woman of a similar age to him. She stands much smaller than him, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail on the side of her head; an unusual style which she pulls off perfectly. The smile she gives to Sorey as he takes her jacket from her is charming, and she holds herself with a grace that even an angel can admire.

“You must be the friend that Sorey told me about,” says Alisha, walking over to Mikleo as Sorey leaves the room to hang her coat up in the foyer. “You’re taking some time here with work, aren’t you?”

Mikleo grows confused, hoping this doesn’t show on his face. He assumes that this is what a lie is. As an angel, he is very unaccustomed to such things. He has never been permitted to tell a lie, nor would it seem natural for him to do so. Luckily, Sorey is soon rushing back into the room to Mikleo’s rescue.

“A-Ah yeah, that’s right!” he exclaims, laughing a little awkwardly. Mikleo inwardly cringes. “Alisha, this is Mikleo. Mikleo, this is Alisha, my fiancée.”

His … his what?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” says Alisha. Still smiling. A sight so radiant that moments ago, Mikleo could be warmed by it. Now it is like it is attacking him, mocking him. Telling him that she is above him.

Mikleo nods. He takes her hand and shakes it. He reminds himself that he has entered Sorey’s life spontaneously, that of course the man would already be living his own life before he had met Mikleo. He already knows people, has befriended them. And love. He has fallen in love with them as well.

He has every right to. And it is what someone like Sorey, so beautiful and so selfless, utterly deserves. Mikleo tries to tell himself this. Yet he cannot stop himself from falling apart there and then.

Inside, at least. On the outside, he smiles. Their grip on each other releases, and Mikleo says, keeping his voice as bright as he can manage, “I didn’t realise you were engaged. Congrats.”

Alisha nods with enthusiasm. She holds onto Sorey’s arm. Still smiling, as though she has not torn apart Mikleo’s happiness. “Oh yes, didn’t he tell you? He proposed months ago. Granted, we got together because it was our parents’ wishes, but …”

“We’re happy together regardless,” says Sorey. In response to these words, Alisha rises up on her toes to plant a kiss on Sorey’s lips.

The world turns cold. Everything around him seems to dim. It takes him back to mere days ago, when he was locked inside that cell, freezing and starving and with nowhere to turn but the same miserable walls. His hands cuffed above his head, injuries inflicted all over his body.

Taken back there, all because of a simple, chaste kiss. He is awful. He is absolutely awful, ridden with thoughts and emotions he should not possess. It’s no wonder he had been punished. It’s no wonder he has failed as an angel.

This kind, caring girl, one who is clearly as pure-hearted as Sorey, does not deserve to be seen through eyes burning with envy. She deserves none of this.

“Mikleo? Mikleo, are you all right?”

Hands are on his upper arms. They bring him back from that place, as they always do. His eyes find Sorey’s eyes, which express worry. This is when Mikleo realises he is on his knees on the floor, Alisha too watching him with concern.

“Your face … I didn’t notice how bad it is, until I saw up close,” she murmurs. His shoulders hunch over. She cannot see him. Only Sorey. The long-sleeved shirt he wears can only conceal so much, not the healing injuries on his face, or the bruises from the hands which had wrapped themselves around his throat. “What happened?”

Mikleo shakes his head. Sorey speaks on his behalf. “I’m sorry, Alisha, it’s a bit private for him.”

“I understand. But is there anything I can do?”

Stop. Stop taking Sorey away. Don’t break the love that Mikleo has developed for him. What will happen to Mikleo once they marry? _Where _will Mikleo be by then? No longer here, the only place he has ever felt safe.

_Back there. _You’ll be back there, his mind says, the imprisoned parts of it which still exist. The free will which is still in their grasp. Pulling him. It’s trying to pull him back, telling him there is no heartache there.

Hushing. Gentle, soothing hushes in his ear. Distant, but becoming louder. Arms wrapped around him. Sorey. _Sorey_.

Why can this not be for real? A real embrace, not just one which is to soothe Mikleo’s shaking, when his breathing is irregular and rapid? Can it not be from Sorey’s feelings, rather than his pure heart’s desperation to be a comfort to those who are in need of it?

“It’s all right. It’s okay, I promise.”

It has never, and will never, be okay. Not consistently, not enough so that one day, he will be able to turn around and say, _“I’m okay.”_ But perhaps now. Perhaps now he can be okay, and let himself be calmed. He can ignore his heart’s agony and appreciate what he _does _have.

His arms hug Sorey back. It is … odd. He knows of embraces, of course. The numerous words for them too, like ‘hug’ or ‘cuddle.’ He has simply never properly thought of such things for a long time.

Not unless he dreams of his mother, who too once hugged him in this way.

Is he … crying, too? How can he experience so many human emotions at once? Envy, despair, yet love and joy as well. It is overwhelming. Far, far too overwhelming. But this is what it means to be human. And perhaps if he remembers that, he can see this bursting heart as a positive than a negative.

“Sorry,” says Mikleo as the hug breaks. The back of his hand wipes at his eyes. “I’m just … I’m sorry.”

He cannot explain himself. Partly because Alisha is crouching by him too, but mostly because he simply cannot be honest. But Sorey seems to understand at least a little.

Alisha, on the other hand, appears confused. Not in an offensive manner. She is simply too in the dark about who and what Mikleo is, unable to understand his suffering in the same away that Sorey can. Yet she still seems to want to comfort Mikleo as well regardless, her hand reaching out to rub his arm gently.

“In my eyes, one never has to apologise for the emotions they feel,” she says. To which Mikleo appreciates the sentiment, yet is guilty, because she would not say this about Mikleo’s soul-destroying envy.

“Mikleo, would do you want to go take a walk outside with me?” says Sorey. Mikleo stares at him with wide eyes. “We can go somewhere … quiet. And safe from, you know. But I think that you need to get yourself outside a bit. Feel the fresh air.”

Fresh … air? Is this another human concept? Yes, air can be deemed as fresh, but Mikleo is uncertain about why one would use it for anything but breathing. What else would one use air for?

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” says Alisha, she too understanding what fresh air means. She also seems to be wanting to give her input and care as much as possible, despite how clueless she is. A truly pure person.

“Are you sure you’d be all right with that?” asks Sorey. “You only just got back from visiting your dad, after all. I thought you might want to spend time with me or something.”

“I have to unpack, and I’m a little tired from travelling, besides …” Alisha pauses, shaking her head physically as though denying something mental. “You go right ahead. If that is what Mikleo wants, of course.”

“What do you say?” asks Sorey, smiling at Mikleo.

Mikleo simply stares. And he wonders to himself what it must be like, going on a walk with someone you cherish. It’s another thing he has heard of. Some time ago, he saw it as a useless waste of energy. Why would you walk somewhere, only to have no destination at the end? What meaning is there in simply walking around endlessly, appreciating the journey more than anything which comes after?

It is … strange. Truly. Yet it does also seem rather pleasant, as any time alone with Sorey does.

“Okay,” says Mikleo. Weakly, yet feeling eager all the same. “As long as it’s somewhere … you know.”

Mikleo blinks, glancing up when there is a hand on his head, ruffling the hair gently. “Yeah, I know. We’ll be back soon, Alisha. Take it easy with the unpacking, okay? Especially if you’re tired.”

“I will,” says Alisha, nodding. “You two just have fun!”

Minutes later, shoes have been tied onto their feet and the door has been opened.

The air is thicker outside. Yet Mikleo’s excitement and joy from being in Sorey’s company has returned as well as that swirling malevolence, and Mikleo will happily bear it to be alone with the other.

  


* * *

Their aimless walk takes them to a quiet area nearby to Sorey’s apartment complex. As promised, for there is less malevolence here, even if it does exist.

They are heading into an area of forestry. It is far more pleasant now than it had been when Mikleo woke from his banishment. Though his body hurts all over, it is more bearable than back then. Besides, now he has Sorey, who is more than happy to lead the way.

“I’m curious,” says Mikleo, glancing around. “The trees all look very similar, as do the bushes and the dirt trails. So how do you seem to know exactly where to go?”

“I don’t!”

“That is … odd.”

Sorey laughs, shaking his head. “Is it though? When you’re heading through somewhere like here, you just want to walk and walk, exploring all there is to see. It’s not really about heading somewhere you’re familiar with. Although I do know my way around here a little bit, as I’ve been here before.”

“I see. So you wander this forest, despite knowing you may get lost, and find it … fun.”

“When you put it that way, it does sound weird. But c’mon, isn’t it pretty? I mean, _look _at all this. It’s gorgeous!”

Sorey has turned around as he speaks, his arms spread out either side of him. Mikleo is baffled by the gesture, until he realises it’s to direct Mikleo’s gaze to the plantation around them.

There is sunlight filtering through endless leaves, creating a pattern on the floor, each unique to the last. The greens are lush and bright, far different to anything Mikleo has ever seen in Heaven. He can even hear noises if he concentrates. Charming, little noises, of a bird singing its song or of a rodent scurrying through the grass and over fallen leaves.

“See? Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I do see the appeal,” Mikleo finally admits. “As well as in the act of simply walking, for no reason other than to simply walk. Humans may come up with peculiar concepts, but they are enjoyable.”

“You’ve been interested in humans for a while now, haven’t you?” asks Sorey. Mikleo hums, his eyes watching his feet.

“For a long time. I have grown jealous of your freedom, your emotions, all of the things you do for fun. Your lives aren’t simply about duties. You don’t live simply as another part of a machine. You get to make choices, you get to have fun. Not every single day has to be about _doing _something. Even a day where nothing at all has been accomplished is still meaningful to you.”

“Of course it is,” says Sorey. “Life isn’t just about playing a productive role. It’s about simply living, too. And by that I don’t just mean surviving.”

Not just surviving … Mikleo can understand what this means. Or at least, he thinks he can. Perhaps Sorey means that living is not simply about being alive. It is about living happily too, granting yourself a fulfilling life. Living for yourself and not for others.

Mikleo’s steps have stopped. He watches Sorey’s back. He realises now, how much of a beacon of hope Sorey is for him. In the short space of time that they have known each other, Sorey has taught him everything.

Love. Passion. Joy. All of it, and Sorey has not even noticed. He does not know the extent of what he has done for Mikleo.

“You okay?” asks Sorey, turning around. He appears a little concerned.

‘_Don’t be,’_ Mikleo thinks, ‘_for I have never been as happy as I am now, with you.’_

He’s not quite sure what he is doing. He only vaguely knows that this is an act that humans do. However, his heart pulls him towards it, regardless of the consequences it may bring. Desire is not sensible. It’s wild, it’s free, everything that Mikleo himself is not.

His lips are against Sorey’s. He has to be on his toes in order to reach. His wings spread out either side of him to balance himself, although this is not simply because of how he stands. The floor sways from dizziness. He is blown away by how incredible it feels to press his lips against Sorey’s.

Sorey is frozen. Mikleo tells himself to back away, that this is wrong, yet he can’t. Sorey’s lips are magnetic and he simply cannot get enough.

For a moment, everything is perfect. Mikleo swears that Sorey is kissing him back. Only it is either so fleeting he cannot comprehend it properly, or it is simply Mikleo’s hopeful mind. For Mikleo is soon being pushed away by hands on his chest.

“What … what are you doing?”

Mikleo bites his lip. He watches as the back of Sorey’s hand hovers over his mouth. Mikleo cannot quite tell if the reddening of Sorey’s face is from embarrassment or anger. Perhaps it is both.

“I love you,” says Mikleo. He is not entirely sure what these words mean, nor how heavy their meaning is, yet they are the only words he knows how to describe his burning heart.

“How can you say that when we’ve only known each other for just over a week?”

“I just know.”

“Are you sure? Or is this because I’m the only human who has managed to be here with you?”

Mikleo’s head lowers. He understands the belief behind those words, yet knows this is far from the truth. “I … I know that what I’m feeling is real. I do.”

“Even if it is, I can’t accept your feelings.” Sorey straightens, his hand lowering. Is that guilt in his eyes? Mikleo cannot say. “I’m engaged, Mikleo.”

“But you don’t really love her. I can see it.”

_Stop it. Stop saying all this. _Yet as much as he tries to stop himself, he cannot stop these words from pouring out.

“I … I know it might seem that way. But regardless of whether or not I have feelings for her doesn’t matter anyway. We have to marry. And us, when we’re a human and angel … Wouldn’t that still make everything worse? Wouldn’t that put you in danger?”

“I don’t care about that!” Mikleo’s hands clench into loose fists, his fringe falling over his face as his head lowers. “I don’t care about anything. I only want to be with you. They can do what they want to me. I’ll accept any of it.”

“But that’s not how you should live. We … we just can’t risk it, Mikleo. I’m sorry.” Sorey turns from Mikleo, facing the direction they have come from. “I … I’m gonna head back. You’re welcome to return, I just … I can’t have you do something like this again.”

Mikleo ignores his gaze when he tries to meet his eyes. The world grows silent as Sorey begins to walk away. Away from Mikleo.

What else did he expect, when even he knows the importance of loyalty? Adultery is a sin. And despite how much Mikleo has grown to despise the strictness of sins, how much they have controlled his life, he understands why it is as such. It tears people apart, it destroys hearts, it can bring permanent distrust in a person.

It is horrid. And Mikleo has gone ahead and tried to make Sorey do exactly this. They’ve been right all along, that he deserves his suffering. They were right about all of it.

Mikleo sinks to the ground. His face is hidden in his hands, although no tears arrive. He’s confused. Lost. For he knows they are right, that he has committed countless sins he must atone for, yet he also believes that he has been right himself about many things. That his emotions for Sorey are true. When he thinks to himself how he would do anything for that man, he knows it is real. And he knows how much more his heart is filled with this genuine love than the woman Sorey is supposed to marry.

Does knowing you are right mean that your actions are justified? Should he chase this love, despite knowing that it is wrong?

He doesn’t know. He _cannot _know, not when he barely understands anything to do with emotion.

Either way, his heart is broken, and he has no idea where his path now leads. He is alone again, as he has always been, and his mind is filled with regret and guilt.

How he wishes he could be in the place of Alisha. This jealousy alone brings him to tears as he curses fate for giving him this wretched life.

  


* * *

Mikleo does not return to Sorey. He knows this must be a cause for worry. But he simply cannot do so. He would feel far too much shame to even look him in the eye, and he is not certain if he has the strength to apologise for his actions. His already shattered heart would only be in further ruin should he once again see what he has lost. And so, Mikleo decides against returning.

Alone, outside and away from someone as pure as Sorey, Mikleo finds himself under the harmful presence of malevolence once again. It is everywhere. Even as he cowers away from it within the quietest parts of the city, it suffocates him, sometimes strong enough to chain him down to the ground and not even let him move a single inch.

It hurts. Everything hurts. Emotionally and physically, he is in agony, and he realises that this is what happens when you have your own conscience. He has broken free from the chains of his mind only to have part of himself crave for their return. At least then, he was able to not feel as much pain as this, to simply be a blank slate.

He is curled up into a ball one morning. His hand clutches at the shirt, _Sorey’s _shirt, against his chest as though he is able to reach straight through there into his heart. He doesn’t want it. He wants to be able to rip it straight out of his chest.

All these sins, all this pain, it is far too much for him to bear. He needs it to disappear. _He _needs to disappear. He wishes he could do so, yet he has no idea how on Earth an immortal being can die.

It is possible. Myths say as such. Yet he has no idea how to commit this act. If he did, it would have already been done long ago.

It is in this moment of vulnerability that another finally comes to him. He wishes it could be Sorey. Although the two have not met since they separated, their first meeting seemingly only by chance on a single day. Mikleo is not so lucky.

“I’m sure you’re learning now, just how harsh it is for you to be on Earth,” says the voice of Artorius. The current ruler of Heaven himself, and the person who sent Mikleo down here for punishment in the first place.

“Why?” Mikleo gasps out. His throat is parched, causing his voice to be raspy. “Why did this have to happen? How is it even possible for an angel to fall in love with a human?”

“Your mind returned to you. This means that you had been granted with the ability to possess all the emotions that a human can. And look at where it has left you.”

Artorius crouches down by Mikleo. His chin is raised, causing his eyes to meet with the other man. His tired, lifeless eyes, void of all hope and joy. The exact kind that Artorius has been aiming to create through this punishment.

“Angels are not supposed to commit sin,” he says. “They are not supposed to feel emotions or have their own free will. They exist for reason and control of the world, and that is all. This is what we had been trying to tell you.”

“All I wanted was to be happy,” Mikleo whispers. His eyes glisten with tears. Sympathy is yet another emotion that an angel seems to not be allowed to experience, however, and it is clearly not evident at all on Artorius’ face. He releases his grip on Mikleo. The latter’s head falls down against his arms.

“And you will not obtain it. Happiness leads to you committing sins in order to please yourself. It is an unnecessary emotion. All you should care for is your duty. You do not belong those who possess malevolence. Look at what it has done to you.”

Mikleo watches as Artorius straightens up. He wishes he could stand himself, prove his strength, yet there is hardly any left. It is as though the air has poisoned him.

“I understand your suffering. It is one of the reasons we have such strict rules. Return to us and obey, and you will have your seal returned. Is that not what you want? To no longer have to bear this suffering?”

“I wouldn’t have to suffer like this anymore?” Mikleo murmurs.

“That’s right. You will no longer feel your love for that human. You will no longer be in pain, or have these sinful desires. You will simply exist, fulfilling what you need to. Isn’t that better than this?”

Mikleo bites his lip, feeling tears escape from his eyes. “Anything … anything would be better than this.”

“That is what I thought. You will be kept in Purgatory for a little time as we prepare for you. I promise that before long, you will no longer have these troubling emotions.”

His mind hazy and the world spinning around him, he barely notices how Artorius brings him up onto his feet. The two vanish, Mikleo realising only slightly what he has given his consent to. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t want to feel love, this despair. He does not want to feel anything.


	2. To Destroy One's Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During his time in Purgatory, Mikleo is visited by a fallen angel. She tells him that not all of his hope is lost. Her master can help grant him happiness, so long as he makes a deal. He does so without hesitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the second part of this fic!

The sky is black and air still and lifeless. There is no colour here, no life, only mere shades of grey. It is strangely comforting in a sense. If there is no life, there is nothing which will cause you pain.

Mikleo sits with his back upright against a wall. His head is leaned back, eyes exhausted. They are swollen from endless crying. He has long stopped by now, wondering if the absence of this misery is worth it to be back in _their _hands again.

He has no idea. He has wished for so long to escape them, yet when life did not go the way he wished when he was down on Earth, he realised he doesn’t truly belong anywhere.

That is the fate of an angel. You’re a tool when you exist in Heaven, yet an outcast on Earth. There is nowhere for him to belong.

Time is ticking by. He is unsure on what Artorius has meant. Perhaps when you seal an angel’s conscience, it is something which requires preparation. Naturally he has never been in a position to commit this act himself. He assumes that if this is not the case, then Artorius has simply decided to leave him here to dwell on his emotions for that little longer.

If he is attempting to force Mikleo back into submission, then little by little, it may be working; he had no idea when craving to be around humanity that it would be so painful possessing emotions.

He brings his knees up to himself. In his mind, he apologises to Sorey. He never had the chance to say goodbye, and even if Sorey could not love him back, it had still been clear that he adored Mikleo deeply.

Mikleo wishes they could have at least been friends for a little longer.

“It sure is difficult being an angel, would you say?”

Too exhausted to find himself startled, Mikleo simply opens his eyes over the unfamiliar voice. “Who are you?”

“An angel who too had been banished for her sins.”

A figure emerges from the fog of Purgatory. She is a fairly small girl, dark hair a contrast against greyish skin. Her wings, which must have been a pure white long ago, have a number of feathers which have been tainted black.

“You have suffered deeply, haven’t you?” the angel continues, stepping closer to Mikleo. “They have punished you and tortured you. Then as they banish you to the human world, you believe that there, you might find joy after all. Only it is snatched away, and that is when you realise it is all part of their plan to teach you of your sins.”

The angel crouches in front of Mikleo. Now she is closer, he can see the reddish tint in her eyes. “I am Symonne. I have been through exactly the same as you.”

“You have?” he asks quietly.

“Yes. The angels do not care for your happiness or what you want, as I’m sure you’d already know by now. But tell me this; what separates you from other angels? What has made you different, worthy of the punishment you have received?”

“I was willing to fight against their control,” he says. “I didn’t want to simply be a puppet for them.”

“Exactly. This is a sign of strength and independence, something that many angels don’t have. Yet you’re throwing it all away by returning to them.”

“It hurts too much to keep resisting.”

“How so?”

“I fell in love. And there is no possible way for us to be together.”

“Ah, love.” Symonne’s voice has grown softer. “Such a cruel emotion, isn’t it? Yet what has made you believe that you are unable to chase after that love?”

“It’s not possible,” says Mikleo. “We’re a human and angel. They’d never let me.”

“That is where you are wrong.”

Mikleo straightens. For the first time since he had been down on Earth with Sorey, the unfamiliar experience of hope returns to him, despite how he tries to fight it back. He is tired of allowing himself to be hopeful only for it to be taken away from him, like everything else.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You don’t have to be a servant to them forever. You can live how you like.”

“I tried, but I can’t,” says Mikleo. He shudders as he remembers how poisonous his last few days on Earth had been, how much that malevolence attempted to consume him. “It’s impossible. There’s nowhere for me to be.”

“There are those out there who can help you.” A smile has reached Symonne’s face. “My master can.”

“Your … master?”

Symonne nods. She reaches towards Mikleo, brushing strands of hair away from his face. “You can make a deal with him. He will help grant you happiness. True happiness, not that which will be taken away from you like this. Isn’t that what you want?”

Mikleo’s eyes close, his face leaning into her touch. Of course it is. The only reason he has been terrified of joy is because of all the heartache which has been brought with it when he tried to take it himself. He fears it, because he knows it is forbidden, and that he will be punished for this desire.

Yet if he could be granted _genuine _joy, that which will not be taken away from him and destroyed … Of course he would take it. His heart still yearns for it. His soul still craves that solitude with another, the type which gives him a reason to be alive at all.

“Then you have your answer,” says Symonne, able to sense his emotions. “If you come with me, I promise you that my master will be of help to you. He may require something in return, of course … Nothing is ever free. But you will get what you want regardless.”

He contemplates this. His rational side knows better than to accept help from an angel who is clearly fallen, seek help from a master he doesn’t even know. Yet he is desperate. He is desperate to be in a position different than his options now, where he is either in despair on Earth or he is suffering in Heaven.

There is nothing for him to lose anymore.

“All right,” he says. The girl’s grin grows. She holds her hand out to him, which he takes with barely any hesitation. Rather than help him up off the ground, the world around him disappears.

He stumbles onto the floor when the two appear elsewhere. His eyes grow wide with horror. Embers and brimstone, a black sky swirling with clouds and flashes of lightning; he is in Hell. The angel is not just fallen; she has aligned herself with the other side entirely.

“I forgot to mention that my master is the current ruler of Hell,” says Symonne. “Yet the possibility still remains. He is the one person who will grant you your wish. Unless you want to go back to being a mindless shell of a person … perhaps it really is best for you to follow.”

Every inch of his being tells him that it is wrong to follow her. His instincts as an angel are not just from what has been driven into his skull. He truly does have the natural capacity to be one, which is why they had chosen him after his death. This purity screams at him, telling him he doesn’t belong here.

The air is … different, however. It’s not malevolence which swirls here, but the atmosphere is still different to that in Heaven. The inferno chills you right down to the bone. A confusing, evil entity surrounds you, though it tempts you, as though it dangles your desires in front of your face.

Perhaps that is why he follows. The gazes he senses among the shadows form goosebumps across his skin. He clearly doesn’t belong, with wings as pure as snow stretched from his back.

Although this girl in front of him, the one who has promised retribution, must have been the same long ago. Now she seems to blend right in with the scattered, tainted feathers.

Similar to Heaven, Hell is structured like a city. Buildings can be spotted amongst the flames and shadows. Symonne takes Mikleo all the way through this city, the latter able to spot their destination as they edge closer; it is common sense that this grander building would belong to her master.

Knowing the identity of Symonne’s master should frighten him, yet God and Satan are mere labels. The former has beaten him until he is black and blue, sealing his conscience so that like every other angel in his position, he is the perfect blank slate for a slave. The word ‘God’ drives no less hatred into his heart.

They are trekking through the halls of a palace now. Dreary, endless halls of obsidian and mahogany. Symonne trots ahead lightly. The white which remains in her wings appears to glow amongst the darkness.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out where we are by now,” says Symonne. “The home of my master, who …”

“Is Satan.”

She nods. “Yet you’re still following me. Not a single word has left those lips of yours.”

“As though he could do anything more than what Lord Artorius has already done.”

“You’d be quite right. My master may be cruel, even heartless … Yet the stories are true, you know. Satan is an archangel, once serving God himself, only to fall, fall, fall … right down here, in this depressing place.”

“And why did he fall?” asks Mikleo.

“I’m sure you know first-hand, just how much God will punish those who commit sins. One after another, piling up and bringing disapproval of your very existence. Then you cross the line and commit a sin that is far too impure for them to handle.”

The pair stop walking as they reach two doors towering over them. Symonne takes hold of the metal ring in its centre, pulling it down and knocking it against the door.

“It is I, my lord,” she calls through.

The silence which falls, though only lasting mere seconds, is enough to strike a new wave of anxiety and anticipation in Mikleo. It is broken not by a voice, but the creak of the double doors opening on their own. Symonne flashes Mikleo a smirk before stepping inside.

“I am sorry to disturb you, my lord,” she says, lowering herself down to one knee with a hand on her chest and head bowed.

“Your presence never disturbs me, Symonne. You should be aware of this by now. However, to bring an angel into our midst is bold of you.”

He isn’t sure why, yet Mikleo can sense that these words are a gesture for him to enter after Symonne. His eyes are immediately drawn to a throne. On it is man who is seemingly human, although Mikleo is certain that these are not his true colours. One leg rests on another, his elbow leaning on the armrest, cheek on the back of his hand.

“I am Geoff Heldalf,” says the man. “Better known as the current Satan. I imagine there is a reason for your visit, considering Symonne is much too loyal to betray me by bringing an angel to this land … Not to mention that a single angel would be obliterated if they tried to wreck havoc.”

“I―Symonne. She told me that you could help,” says Mikleo. His gaze averts to Symonne as she straightens herself up.

“Mikleo wishes to make a deal,” she says. “One which I’m sure you can make worthwhile, my lord.”

Heldalf watches Mikleo with a hint of curiosity. The latter swallows, struggling to meet Heldalf’s gaze. There is nothing out of the ordinary at a glance. There is simply an intense feeling of being unsettled knowing this man is staring at you.

“I will assume that the reason you are in need of a deal is because of their treatment of you,” says Heldalf. He raises up off his throne, cape following him. “The wounds on your body have not yet healed. I can tell they have punished you severely. And that is likely because of sins you believe should not be sins at all.”

Mikleo nods slowly. “I … I can’t return to Heaven. Yet I didn’t belong at all on Earth. It’s like there’s nowhere for me to go.”

“Not to mention he fell in love,” says Symonne, facing Mikleo and tilting her head. “I wonder how many sins that had been … The forbidden romance for a human, how that human is a man, and love itself … I can only imagine the agony you must be experiencing, knowing the extent of what you have committed.”

“You fell in love?” asks Heldalf, this fact interesting him for a reason Mikleo doesn’t know. He still nods regardless of his ignorance.

“That’s how they convinced me to return,” he says. A painful lump lodges itself in his throat. “Because of how much it hurts to be human.”

“Now, that is where you are incorrect.”

Mikleo blinks. “What do you mean?”

“It can be a struggle to be human, yes. Emotions are a puzzling and difficult concept to bear. Yet the reason you suffered as you did is not because you were experiencing life similarly to a human. Rather, that could make you the happiest you have ever been.” Heldalf is closer to Mikleo by now, his stare unmoving as he looks down at the other. “No. You suffered because the Gods have shaped angels into a being which cannot cope with emotion. You suffered because you fell in love, knowing it is forbidden and is impossible. Should you stay how you are, that is.”

“Yet if you were to be human …” says Symonne softly.

Mikleo’s head swivels to her. For a moment, he cannot speak at all. He never knew that such a thing could be possible. Souls can be reincarnated, yes. Should a human die and their soul be deemed suitable for another life, or should an angel reach the end of their seemingly immortal life, they will be reincarnated.

Yet before that day comes for angels, thousands upon thousands of years later, they have no choice but to live as an angel until then. There is no way to return to human life.

“It’s impossible,” Mikleo murmurs. “It must be.”

“Your God _says _it is impossible,” says Heldalf. “But this is another way that He puts his chains on you. In reality, he and I have the greatest power this world has ever seen. The extent of it is insurmountable. Transforming you into what you wish is child’s play.”

“But―but how? How could you do it?”

“As I said, my master would likely be willing to make a deal with you,” says Symonne.

Heldalf nods slowly, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Deals can hold the greatest strength at all. The force of a promise, the height of trust, equal gain―all of these factors increase the potential that an agreement possesses. If we put one in place, then the possibilities are almost endless.”

“What kind of deal?” Mikleo asks, drawn in by these promises, desperate to achieve them. “What would you want in return?”

“Your soul would do me nicely.”

“My … my soul?”

Simple, yet powerful. It only seems fitting for what Heldalf would wish for.

“You will still have it contained in you,” says Heldalf. “However, I will claim ownership. I will be able to use it at any time I wish, and sacrificing yourself to me would mean that you will no longer have a future life to live. Unless I granted you it, of course.”

More control. This seems to be a permanent part of Mikleo’s life by now. Is it worth it, when it is this control which is what caused him to flee Heaven in the first place?

“Not to worry,” Heldalf continues, sensing these thoughts. “I am not like your current ruler. I will give you chance to obtain free will in the meantime and you will be able to make all your own choices. I am not merely taking from you, as they have; I will give you everything you want in return.”

“You could make me into a human?” asks Mikleo quietly.

“Yes. I can even make you into a woman instead, if you want to ensure that you are not committing that sin as well.”

Mikleo’s eyes widen. He would say to himself that it is too good to be true, yet in reality, handing your soul over to the devil is a tremendous price in the first place. He would not gain this life so easily.

“You can take your time to think about it as well. I understand that―”

“I’ll do it.”

Heldalf pauses, clearly stunned by this fast conclusion. “Are you certain? There is much to consider here. I do not expect such an instant response.”

“You’ll be tossing your soul away without a second thought,” says Symonne.

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I’m only on Earth for a few years, months, even _weeks.”_ Mikleo breathes in, eyes closing momentarily. “There’s nothing for me in Heaven. Soul or no soul, all it causes is misery. I need to live on Earth and have a chance with him no matter the cost.”

“Even at the cost of your soul being in my very hands?”

“Even then.”

Chuckling, Heldalf says, “It has been a very long time since I’ve met someone as tenacious as yourself. I must say that I am impressed. Your lord is wasting your potential. And if you are certain … very well.”

A click of his fingers. Mikleo’s eyes dart to the ground as a brilliant light shines, a pentagram drawn by his feet.

Agony assaults him, shooting through his nerves, his bones, all the way to his very core. It brings him to his knees, his vision darkening. Even so, he is smiling. He smiles because this is the beginning of a new life for him. It is the pain he must endure so he can finally live without it.

And he curses the Gods above with his final breath as an angel.

* * *

  


Tanned fingers fix the black tie resting against a white shirt. Little by little, until it is perfect. All expect today to be without flaws. Everything, down to the last detail, should be immaculate. As pure and as untainted as the groom and bride themselves, as they bear their love to everyone. Their ogling eyes feast upon their traditional ideals.

Green eyes avert up to the mirror. They scan over his reflection, checking everything is right. It is, of course. Everything is to go to plan today. Yet he is without a smile. He sighs, turning away, an emptiness in his heart.

Perhaps he really did love her, long ago. He remembers how it felt back _then. _When they would laugh together, read exciting new books, argue lightly over their opinions. How they were simply two young people experiencing life together. Innocent and pure-hearted. The world had yet to touch them, a young man and woman who simply wanted to be happy.

Is it ironic, that when society and their families’ expectations wanted them to have a pure and untainted love, they began to sap away at their purity instead? The pressure of these expectations grew heavier. A weight which cannot be shifted.

Their genuine emotions and love became a trophy instead. Something which may have been true after all lost its spark as it was used to symbolise tradition. Their marriage was arranged, their families boasting on how it will be _perfect, _how much good their son and daughter will do together.

Boasting. A disgusting use for love, something which they dare to say is pure. They spout ideals and lies whilst basking in their own egoism and pride.

He is ready, in theory. Physically he is. Emotionally, he would rather run from all of this. His heart yearns for something else. _Someone _else, although his memory has been hazy, recent days blocked out from his mind. A blur which casts over a time he knows is important. Important, yet he cannot remember anything but gentle, yet passionate violet eyes.

Time flashes by, almost as though you could miss an entire hour merely by blinking. He stands at the alter. All around him are smiles. Some are genuine, their face flushed with joy for the couple. Others seem to mostly be here to gloat in their invitation.

The music begins. Beautiful, he will admit, a melody which soothes all the hearts in the room. The bride emerges in the doorway. Her hand holds onto the arm of her father almost delicately. It doesn’t suit her; not her fiery, passion self.

She is beautiful. Stunning, even. Her wedding dress is almost like that of a princess. The large skirt and ruffled layers, dazzling white. Her hair has been tamed into sophisticated ringlets.

Can Alisha be described as radiant, however? Sorey cannot say. That word only seems suitable for those basking in love and joy. The way a bride cannot prevent her smile, the tears which form in their eyes, their cheeks dusted in pink. That is what he imagines with the term ‘radiant.’ Alisha displays none of this.

She takes his hand. What a shame it is, a true example of the harshness of personas and expectations to fulfil, for them to not be over the moon about this day. She smiles. But only because she has to. Sorey smiles back for the same reason, as his mind drifts away, droning out the words of the vicar.

His eyes wander around the room. They blink. His head turns, despite how he has been ensuring to fix it in place. His mouth opens. Confusion. Utter confusion hits him as his heart bursts, attempting to drag him down the aisle, away from Alisha and to _her._

A woman he has never seen before has entered. Donning a black dress, the exact opposite to Alisha, although equally as beautiful. More so even, with the long, curled white hair which falls down against it.

She walks with her head straight forward. Ignoring how guests are murmuring with puzzlement, how someone has stood up, demanding what she is doing. It is all separated from her vision. She sees Sorey. Only Sorey. And he too only sees her, not noticing how he has released Alisha’s hand, or how the vicar asks what is happening.

The white-haired woman stands short of the alter. Sorey is now able to see her eyes. And his heart stops, because it is _those _eyes, those which have persistently returned to his mind despite not knowing who they belong to. He knows nothing. Not her name, nor where she came from or why she is here. He doesn’t even know her voice.

“Y-You’re …”

“Sorey?” says Alisha, as clueless as him.

The woman smiles. It causes a stir in Sorey’s chest. He swallows, his throat tight. Uncertain and paralysed, yet soaring all at once. His mind sifts through a thousand thoughts in a second, coming to a conclusion before he has the chance to question it.

He holds out his hand to the woman. A collective gasp erupts from the room, but he ignores it. The woman glances down at the hand, to Sorey, the only acknowledgement of this offering existing in the slight widen of her eyes.

She accepts his hand. And he takes her away. He pulls her along down the aisle, past the outraged cries, all their shouts. He ignores those standing by the door. They run, straight out of the church and into the open, the tainted groom ignoring the holy vows left unspoken on his tongue.

“A little farther,” says Sorey. The woman has not pulled her hand out of Sorey’s grip, nor has she said a word. He glances back to her, catching how her head lowers, the slightest smile on her face.

He knows that smile. He knows _her, _despite how he also doesn’t know her at all. Perhaps it might simply be because this is the person his heart has been yearning for.

The two stop with their backs against a stone wall. “Sorry,” says Sorey, noticing how the woman is panting. “I didn’t know if they’d chase after us.”

Shaking her head, the woman attempts to regulate her breathing. She does not yet speak. Sorey wonders if she actually has the capability to do so, wondering how one would ask such a personal question.

She could also merely be as stunned as Sorey is. “What is your name?” he asks, curious to see if she will speak if asked a question.

Only the question causes her brow to crease. She shakes her head.

“What do you mean? That you don’t want to tell me it, or …?”

“It’s complicated.”

Her first words, quiet and soft-spoken, almost as though she is afraid to use that voice at all.

“I do have to call you something,” says Sorey. The woman looks at him, a little curious, as though waiting for some kind of conclusion. His eyes scan over her pale hair and porcelain skin, and he smiles. “You know, you kind of remind me of an angel. So why don’t I call you that? Angel?”

For a moment, she seems uncertain. A flicker of an emotion that Sorey cannot quite grasp appears in her eyes. A tongue runs over her lips, debating eternally. She finally appears less unsure.

“I quite like that,” she says.

“Then Angel it is!”

Sorey’s heart seems to collapse in his chest as Angel smiles properly. Collapse, yet beat more furiously all at once. He inspects her. Eyes trailing over the slender waist, small chest and soft lips. Alluring. Utterly alluring, despite how Sorey has been forbidden to think of this towards anyone but Alisha.

Is it love, or is it lust? Does he truly want to feel her, or does he miss the warm embrace that he and his now forgotten fiancé have not been able to enjoy in a long time? He isn’t sure what his heart is telling him. All he knows is that it is desperate. It is a magnet pulling him towards this woman, a magnet which cares not for sin.

And neither does he. Not enough to stop him from pressing his lips against hers. She blinks. Surprise above all else, for she is soon to kiss back. The response causes Sorey to push her against the wall behind them, resting his hands on it as he allows himself to drown in the taste of her lips.

Her arms around his neck bring him closer. She lets out a quiet gasp as his lips proceed to find her neck. It brings him back to reality. Pulls him back, realising where they are, her hands resting on his chest.

He doesn’t move back more than this, and neither does she. Her fingertips tread lightly over his shirt. Are those tears in her eyes? Could she simply be overwhelmed, or is there further conflict in her heart? Already thrown far into the deep end in how much he cares for this person, Sorey cups her cheek. She immediately leans her head into it. Closes her eyes. Smiles, as though she has been waiting for this moment her entire life.

Sorey realises how he is the same. Something inside him tells him this is correct, that this is what he has been searching for, even though it goes against all that is holy for him to dare touch another. Yet unholy acts he will commit, and delving into his passion will be his goal; the fire in him will not extinguish until he settles his desires.

Her eyes express the same. Love and lust burning all at once in welcoming eyes. She reaches onto her toes, pressing a kiss on his cheek, as she whispers, “What are we waiting for?”

And when Sorey has no answer, he yet again leads her away.

  


* * *

Who knows where Alisha may be right now? Has she already head back to their own home? Sorey knows he cannot return there. Not now, at least. Not whilst he has fled with Angel.

Part of him screams for answers on why he is doing this. Does he not know how wrong any of this is? How he has thrown away all that he and Alisha have built together? Betrayed their families? Yet he knows away from these fears, he has no care at all. He and Alisha have already lost what once made their lives enjoyable. His family, now his mother has long since been gone, do not care for him personally.

That is why he is able to guide Angel into this hotel room with no guilt. Lock the door and press his lips against hers, so desperately that one would believe this will be his only chance.

He lifts her by her thighs. Slips his tongue into her mouth. It captures the soft moan she releases, the arms around Sorey’s neck growing tighter. Inviting him closer. His hands run up her thighs, feel her rear beneath her dress. The two fall onto the bed with Sorey hovering over her.

She is gorgeous. The back of her hand held over her mouth, cheeks flushed, hair falling all around her head on the duvet beneath her. Sorey can only stare. Fearing how much he seems to love her already, despite how he can only recall those eyes.

Although who else would have such incredible eyes? This pure hair, impossibly ethereal? She is the person he has lost. He can simply say no more than this.

A hand on his chest stops him from kissing her. Her eyebrows have furrowed, mournful eyes uncertain.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “You know that this is wrong, when you are already engaged.”

“I think my heart is going to burst if I don’t give in.”

She appears to understand these words. Her eyebrows raise in acknowledgement. With a nod, she cups Sorey’s face with her hands, returning their lips together.

He kisses straight back. His hands roam her body, appreciating everything, even if there is something which does not quite feel right. His emotions have captured him too much for him to care. He removes her dress. She flickers her eyes away out of bashfulness over showing her body, yet she is smiling.

Still relieved. Still impossibly joyful, as though this moment means far more to her than Sorey could ever know.

Their lips meet again. Skin bare and all doubts thrown away, their bodies combine in a heat of passion, love filling the space between them. Chaste vows have been forgotten. Defiled.

All by the sin of their impossible love.

  


* * *

They sit together outside. Reality fades away. Sorey can barely understand anything, not even himself. How he is throwing his life away for this woman he does not even know the real name of. Yet there is something inside him, alongside his certainty that this love his true, that causes desperation. That he must latch onto this as he still has a chance.

He holds up the woman’s pale hand. The stem of a small flower is wrapped around her ring finger. The woman blinks, confused. She still has difficulty realising that she is not the only one to be throwing away all for the other.

“I haven’t had a clue what’s been going on recently,” says Sorey. He brings the woman’s hand into a fist. Encases it in both his own, wanting to warm that cool skin. “I’ll definitely be honest about that. But you … It’s like we already know each other. That we were destined for each other. Does that sound crazy?”

The woman shakes her head. “I believe it works that way. Fate, I mean. That there really are people who are destined to meet and be with each other.”

“Why else would there be bonds which can be so frail after years of knowing each other, yet others which seem to be an instant, unexplainable connection?” Sorey says in agreement. He lifts her hand to his lips, placing a kiss down onto it. “I’m not sure how long we can stay like this. But for now … I just want to be with you. Only you.”

She smiles, tears welling in her eyes. Her forehead leans against Sorey’s. “As do I.”

And they will remain together, right until the final fall.

Sorey does not know of the sins this woman bears. Does not know of her past or the lengths she has gone to in order to bring them together. And though he feels it in his heart, that only devastation awaits them on this path, he doesn’t understand the true extent. He is blissfully ignorant to the consequences one must bear for their sins.

Those above will do all that is necessary to maintain order. They will throw away their own supposed ideals.

They will pull the trigger if necessary. And that is what they do. Launching an arrow of judgement straight through Sorey’s chest, as punishment for both their sins.

His mouth is hung open. He can vaguely feel the pain, although it takes time for his brain to comprehend something so severe. The word is spinning. Blood is seeping from his chest. And there are hands, delicate hands scrambling at his arms, her eyes wide and pouring tears.

“Wh-What—who—”

“You should have known better than to drag an innocent person into your own sins,” says a voice, impossibly distant.

“_Artorius!” _An agonised scream. She holds his body upright against her. “Why? Why couldn’t you have just let us be happy? Why—”

“No matter what you throw away, you will never be able to walk away from the path you took. And such a sinful human has no right to exist at all.”

“That’s crazy, you can’t …”

Sorey’s head leans against her chest. His breaths are weak and shallow, vision darkening. He closes his eyes. His body is so heavy that he barely notices the pain. Sleep … that is what he needs. To allow the overwhelming darkness to truly take over.

“You should have known your place. This is all because you would not obey.”

Soft hair falls against Sorey’s face, as though Angel is leaning down over him.

“And that is my responsibility alone to bear,” she says. She brings Sorey closer to her. He can hear the sob in her voice. “My sin against God.”

A warmth fills Sorey’s chest. A burning fire, a life despite how his own is mere seconds from being lost. He can open his eyes. Sees the girl bathed in an orange glow.

“What are you—” stammers Artorius.

“All my acts of treachery should be paid by my death.” Her eyes cast down at Sorey’s face. She smiles shakily, her hand cupping his cheek. “And so, I will die for you.”

Her forehead presses against his. Her tears pour down onto his face. Everything around him is turning clearer, the pain fading, his vision returning back to focus. Life returning little by little. Alongside that life are coherent thoughts and widened eyes as he processes what she has said.

His heart, that which has been granted survival, still stops. His eyes are fully open. He sees _him. _

Is it an illusion? A vision created by his mind? The fact that as he stares at the face of the one who holds him, he sees that which he knows now he has forgotten?

The same violet eyes, feminine features, yet all belonging to a man instead. Silvery wisps of fine hair fall over the face stained with tears. Feathers drop around him. Falling to the ground, deceased, despite how Mikleo appears more alive than he has ever done so before.

It is the smile he gives Sorey through those tears. A smile so genuine, Sorey could not possibly believe it would be possible on Mikleo. Not with all of his hardships and torment.

“I believe … that is my fate.”

Mikleo’s eyes close, his head tilting with his smile. Sorey opens his mouth. There are too many things to say, to apologise for, yet those words take time. Time the two do not have. And the moment he works up his first words in his throat, breathing air into his lungs, Mikleo is gone.

Vanished. Destroyed. He disappears in a flash of blinding light, his soul banished from this realm, leaving behind all but a single feather, blackened by the darkness of sin.

No words can leave Sorey’s mouth. His throat is choked by threatening tears. A trembling hand reaches out, catching the single feather. He stares at it. Recalling all the memories he has lost, realising that even in the short period of time the two knew each other, they have created something special.

Is this part of fate’s amusement? To create your destiny, combine it with that of another, only to have it be forbidden and tear it from your hands?

He is howling. Holding that feather to his chest, screaming out his anguish as his tears fall to the ground below. Knowing he should be grateful for the life he has been given, yet cursing all who made it be so that he could only live if Mikleo died for him.

“I do not—I can hardly believe it,” says Artorius. The voice brings hatred to Sorey’s aching heart. “He sacrificed his soul to save your life. To the Devil himself.”

Sorey turns around to the man. Anger joins the misery in his eyes. He shakily gets to his feet, still clutching that feather in his hand.

“We’ll meet again.” Artorius’ eyebrows raise. “I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But we will.”

“And you truly believe that, do you? That the angel who lost his wings can find the black-stained groom once again? Two sinners should be kept apart for the sake of the world.”

“What would humans be without sin?”

Artorius grows silent from those words. “You are saying you should be _proud _of your sins? For the hearts you’ve hurt?”

“No. Not exactly that. Just that we’re human, and we make mistakes. We have flaws. But without flaws, how would we be able to appreciate perfection?” Sorey opens his fist, staring at the feather on his palm. “He understood that. Even though you punished him, he still went against that restraint you put on him. And I know that kind of determination will bring us together again.”

He speaks not from lies he has given to himself, blind comfort caused by wishful thinking. The source of his certainty is unclear. Yet his vision has never been clearer, knowing that his words come from truth.

Sins are not permanent. They will be purified in the cycle of time, that which is considered a sin evolving as time moves on. The world will keep spinning. Humanity and even angels will grow.

They will be cleansed, the rotten fruit of lust finally decayed. And as it withers away, they will meet again.

Not now. Not in this lifetime. But another, someday, somewhere.

And they will embrace their love without intervention.


End file.
